My Husband's Wife (19 page)

‘You’re hurting me!’ Leona whined as Rosie set to with the brush, gripping the hair and trying to avoid snagging the knots.

They had both been subdued after their visit to their dad’s the previous evening, a lot more so than she’d anticipated, and she was thankful for it, unsure how she would have coped if they’d burbled on about the marvellous Gerri and her mansion and the view from the pool. She’d also avoided asking the many inappropriate and painful questions that preoccupied her –
Did Daddy kiss her? Did you see where they sleep?
– and had instead settled for a rather neutral, ‘Did you have a nice time?’ They both nodded casually without lifting their eyes from the TV screen or giving any details.

Rosie had washed, brushed and conditioned Leona’s hair, leaving her daughter, at her own insistence, to style it herself. The end result was quite something to behold. She’d gathered one section of hair into a neon scrunchie so that it stuck out at an odd angle and had used some deely boppers with mini disco balls on the end as a headband. It was certainly striking.

Naomi had her grandad’s cake on her lap and was holding the plate steady with both hands. It was an iced creation covered in sparkles. Rosie had told the girls to add a few glittery sprinkles, but the combination of an overzealous Leona and a quick nudge from her sister’s elbow meant the whole tube now adorned the top in a sparkly summit.

‘When do you think Grandad will die?’ Naomi asked casually.

‘Oh, not for a very, very long time,’ Rosie said, using a jolly tone. ‘You don’t have to worry about that. He’s young and healthy. So, what do you think he will make of his cake?’ She was keen to change the subject.

Naomi’s reply was not what she had expected; her diversion tactic had failed.

‘Milly’s grandad died and Leah’s grandad died and Mrs Williams’s dog died and Celia’s nanny died.’

Leona took up the reins. ‘Moby and Jonathan died, Marshall’s mum died and Jo-Jo’s grandad died.’

‘Okay!’ Rosie shouted a little louder than she’d intended, banging the steering wheel for added effect. ‘Today is Grandad’s birthday, it’s a
happy
day and I don’t think we need to hear a list of all the people we know who’ve died. Who wants to hear some 1D?’ She fumbled for the CD.

‘Did your mummy die?’ Leona asked.

They clearly weren’t done with the topic. She looked in the mirror at the faces of her girls, their expressions both interested and cautious as they stared at her, waiting for a response.

‘She did. Yes.’

‘Daddy said that to Gerri,’ Naomi said.

Rosie flinched at hearing her daughter say the name of the woman who had ripped their life apart, making her real, bringing her into their world.

‘And it made me feel sad, but then I couldn’t imagine her and so I thought I didn’t mind too much that she’d died, but I thought it might make you sad because she was your mum.’

‘It did make me sad and that was very kind of you to think about me in that way. I only found out a little while ago.’ She thought back to that horrible, horrible day. ‘And I think she probably looked like me.’

Naomi seemed satisfied with this response.

‘Mummy?’

‘Yes, love?’ She looked at her child, fearful of what she might reveal or say next.

‘Are you not supposed to talk about dying on people’s birthdays?’ Naomi looked a little tearful.

‘Well, I don’t think there are any rules about it. You can talk about anything, anytime you want, but I do think that a birthday should be a happy occasion and so, as a general rule of thumb, talking about something that might make you feel a bit sad or might make other people feel sad might not be the best idea.’

The two little girls exchanged a look.

Someone had tied two blue foil balloons bearing the slogan
Happy Birthday
to the gatepost at Highthorne and they bobbed and strained against their ribbon in the wind. Rosie knew it would only be a matter of time before they made a break for freedom. A quick glance told her the place was Range Rover-free and she breathed a sigh of relief.

The girls unbuckled and shuffled out of the seats with their cake.

‘Go steady, don’t drop it!’ Rosie said, unable to face the tears and theatrics that would ensue if the cake were to get squashed at this final hurdle. She took a deep breath; nerves and fear swirled in her gut.

Kayleigh came rushing out of the front door, her thin hair tucked behind her ears and her mouth poised to speak as she placed her hands on the girls’ shoulders. ‘Hello, Tipcott family!’ she yelled. ‘And hello, Rosie!’

Rosie hovered by the car, unable to ignore the ache of embarrassment that washed over her. She got the message loud and clear
. ‘You are no longer part of this family, you have been replaced.’
She wondered how long Kayleigh had been practising that. Watching as the cake-carrying trio made their way into the house, she knew that she would never forget those words or the way in which they had been delivered. She thought of all the times she had jumped to Kayleigh’s defence and felt even more stupid. Her legs shook.

Suddenly something landed on her foot with a splat. Startled, she looked down. A wad of wet loo roll sat on her shoe.

‘What on earth...?’ She kicked it off and looked up at the bathroom window, out of which leant Kev.

‘What are you doing?’ she yelled.

‘I’m thinking about what to throw at you next. There are surprisingly few missiles at my disposal here.’

His head disappeared back inside, only to emerge seconds later. Drawing his arm back, he launched a small yellow rubber duck that the girls liked to play with in the bath. It hit her arm. She picked it up and tried to lob it back, but her crappy throwing skills meant she barely cleared the car.

‘You’re still rubbish at throwing,’ he observed. ‘Do you remember when we’d go to play beach rounders and we had to pick teams and you were always last because no one wanted you on their team, because you couldn’t throw or catch? Oh God, you’re not crying again, are you?’

Rosie let her shoulders hang forward and her head rest on her chest as the tears came. She felt the loo roll hit the side of her head and looked up sharply.

‘That was a gift sent in kindness to dry your tears, not a missile. Don’t move. I’m on my way down.’

Rosie gathered up the loo roll and got into the passenger seat of the car. She pulled off a long strip and blew her nose, unable to face going inside just yet. She looked to the left and Kev’s face was squashed against the window.

‘For God’s sake!’ She banged the glass.

He chuckled as he walked round and climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘Hello, ugly-angry-man-faced crier.’

She sobbed shamelessly. ‘I know you’re trying to cheer me up, but please stop!’

‘What’s happened?’

Rosie shrugged. ‘It was just something Kayleigh said. Maybe I’m being super sensitive.’

‘Eeuuw! S-Kayleigh!’ He laughed.

‘Don’t be mean.’ She set her mouth in a thin line to stop her own laughter.

‘She is scaly – snakey and sneaky...’

‘I think she’s probably unhappy,’ Rosie offered, though even this did little to temper her dislike of the woman.

‘I don’t think she’s as unhappy as you right now, for sure. Because she’s inside drinking sparkling wine and you’re sitting in the car with a pile of snotty tissue in your lap.’ Kev drummed his fingers on his thighs. ‘Are you coming inside?’

She shook her head. ‘In a bit.’

They were quiet for a couple of seconds.

‘Do you want to play think of a person and I’ve got to guess who you’re thinking of and you can only answer yes or no?’

‘No, I don’t.’ She shook her head a second time.

Mo banged on the window. ‘What are you two plotting?’ she asked as she climbed into the back seat.

‘Why do you think we’re plotting something?’ Kevin laughed.

‘Because since you were young, that’s what you’ve always done, with you thinking up the plan and Rosie going along with it.’ Mo tutted in mock anger, her affection for the two of them spilling from her. ‘Are you not having a good day, darling?’ She looked at her daughter-in-law’s teary face.

‘I’ll be okay.’ Rosie nodded, feeling embarrassed. This was Keith’s special day and she had unwittingly hijacked two of his party guests, who were now sitting in her car.

‘Shall I go and get you a cup of tea?’ Kev offered.

Rosie nodded at the first useful thing he had said that day.

‘I love having him home.’ Mo watched him jog into the house.

‘I bet.’ Rosie smiled.

‘Phil’s not coming over until this evening. I didn’t ask him to stay away, of course, that’s just what he’s arranged, so please come inside. And you know, love, there will be times – at family gatherings and on other occasions, especially living in a small town like this – when you’re going to have to be in the same room as him.’

‘I know. And it’s not so much being in the room with him, it’s being there with him and her and everyone watching to see how we react. I can’t bear to think about it.’ Her tears gathered again.

‘I will always love you, Rosie. You are the mother of my grandchildren and I think the world of you, you know that. Nothing’s changed.’

‘I love you too. But I don’t think it’s true that nothing’s changed – for me, anyway. Things aren’t the same and they never will be. I not only lost my husband, I lost my place in your family too.’

‘I understand that’s how you feel, even if it’s not true, but what you mustn’t do is self-sabotage.’ Mo nodded. ‘And I guess the big question is this, Rosie: what are you going to do? How are you going to recapture your life?’

Rosie stared at her and shrugged.
What am I going to do?

Kev reappeared with a mug of tea and handed it to her as he climbed back into the driver’s seat.

‘Thank you.’ She was, as ever, grateful for his kindness.

‘That’s better – smiling at last!’ He threw his hands up in mock celebration.

Keith approached the car and laughed as he opened the back door and clambered in next to his wife.

‘Happy birthday, Keith. Did your cake arrive in one piece?’

‘It’s smashing. Thank you, Rosie, love. Especially the glitter, it’s everywhere!’ He held up a glitter-smeared palm and as he turned his head she saw the sparkles on his forehead and in his eyebrow; it really was everywhere.

‘Yes, they were a bit liberal with the old glitter pot.’ She smiled.

‘I tell you what, though, you can keep all my other gifts. This has given me more of a chuckle than anything.’ He opened up the card that the girls had made him and read aloud. ‘
Dear Grandad, happy birthday. Leona and me hope you have a nice day and that you don’t die soon. We think you will die soon, but not very soon.
’

He turned the card outwards to face the three astonished faces, keen to show off the crayon-drawn picture of a coffin with a cross on the front and a birthday cake sitting on top of it. They had popped several kisses across the page for good measure.

‘Oh my God! Keith!’ Rosie hid her face in her hands. At least they hadn’t included a list of all the people they knew who had died.

‘It’s very original,’ Kev observed, ‘but they may have to rethink their career plan of going to work for Hallmark as verse writers.’

His words made them all laugh and Rosie felt a small weight lift from her. These people, squashed into her little car, were her family.

*

The week passed in a flash. And in just five short days a change had occurred. Rosie woke feeling different, brighter, as if the fog of desperation was starting to clear, and that clarity enabled her to look forward. Mo’s challenging words rang in her head and she began to ask herself the same questions over and over: what
was
the grand plan? How
was
she going to rebuild? This, coupled with Kev’s unwillingness to allow her to stew, meant she had walked to work with a spring in her step, cleaned the caravans with gusto and been on good form when she met Mel for a coffee. They banned the ‘P’ and ‘G’ words from their conversation and Mel kept telling her how hot she looked. Rosie had rebuffed the comments. She felt as if she’d been dragged through the mire and was only just coming up for air; hot didn’t come into it.

The best thing about this new outlook was that the atmosphere at home was less gloomy and Naomi and Leona were more settled as a result.

On Monday she had conducted a spring clean. Getting down on her hands and knees with a bottle of bleach, she did what she was good at, sweeping dirt from every corner, scouring surfaces and polishing glass until their little house was neat, tidy and sparkling. She opened the windows and let the breeze whip around the rooms, sucking out the misery and replacing it with the beginnings of hope.

She still had her moments, though, like when she found a note from Phil scrawled on the back of a receipt and finished with a large X. It was enough to throw her. Her fingers had hovered over the script, scrawled in biro.
Gone to pick up cement, see you about three, so stick the kettle on!
And then the kiss. It was a simple message, written at a time when her life had been just that: simple. She pictured the day, remembered him coming home and her cooking tea for the four of them. They’d watched
EastEnders
and she’d washed the kids’ uniforms. Rosie wondered what she’d thought about, unaware that the lovely little life she had was on a timer, counting down to now.

The memory of this seemed to energise her. Seizing the moment, she opened the double wardrobe that ran the length of one wall in their bedroom. Gathering up all the hangers with her husband’s clothes on, she folded them into bin liners, along with his stinky old trainers, discarded overalls and other items that had taken root in the bottom of the cupboard. Fabric and objects that she had in the past weeks run her tear-soaked fingers over, inhaling the scent of him, imagining him still present, she now discarded without so much as a flinch. She did the same with the bathroom cabinet, popping his razor blades, spare shower gel and athlete’s foot powder into a carrier bag and shoving that in with his clothes. Let Gerri have all his crap.